Something in the Aftermath
by The Prophet Lemonade
Summary: It was only when he spoke did Lan Fan truly realize the great sacrifice her Prince was making for her disability. That arm had saved him once, and now it was hindering him in his goal. LINFAN, DRABBLE


**Author's Note: I really do love LinFan as a pairing, so expect to see a bit more of this in the close future. I didn't realize how much I missed writing for Fullmetal Alchemist until now; the characters truly are amazing.**

**Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist belongs to Hiromu Arakawa.**

**Title: Something in the Aftermath**

* * *

"I'm sorry Young Master," Lan Fan had said, bowing her raven head apologetically as she buried her face in the deep folds of her collar. Her cheeks were tinted with their usual rosy pink, indicating either her embarrassment or shame at the situation. "I will not be able to accompany you back to Xing."

The words apparently pained the young assassin greatly, for she spoke them with immense resentment and her tear ducts welled with warm salt water.

"How so?" Ling queried, feigning a casual act, as he busied himself with his pack and the steel cutlass that always hung from his belt. His indifference would have seemed rude to anyone who didn't know the prince better. But she knew him all too well.

Gingerly, Lan Fan rubbed the cool metal that was now her left arm, painfully familiar with every indentation and groove of her robotic limb.

"Young Master, I cannot cross the desert with an arm of automail," she murmured, "I will be remaining here, in Amestris."

Abruptly, Ling grabbed his worn, leather pack and flung the contents out across his bed and the dusty floorboards, undoubtedly doing substantial damage to his property in the progress. There was a slight trace of anger visible across his sculpted Xingese features as he slumped down on the linen sheets, staring at the cracking ceiling.

"Young Master!" Lan Fan exclaimed, crouching on her haunches to retrieve some of the items closest to herself. She moved with less precision than usual, appearing fatigued as she piled her master's possessions neatly beside her. "We just spent an hour packing all of this…"

"What's the point in packing when I'm not going anywhere?" Ling sighed, matter-of-factly, shielding his obsidian eyes with the back of his pale hand. Immediately, his bodyguard felt the blood rush to her face and her jaw quivered. "You're really uptight sometimes, Lan Fan. Let's just relax whilst we're here."

She found no voice to express her feelings. There _was_ no voice to express the myriad of emotions gushing through her system at that moment in time; her calloused hand gripped only tighter to the steel plating of her new arm. Yet, as the Prince sat up, that hand was joined by another, larger, and warmer than her own.

"Come on now, where would I be going without someone to watch my back?" he mused, his breath tickling his assistant's tender skin. "I thought you knew me better, Lan Fan?"

Barely, she managed to choke back the lump that formed in her throat, knowing full well that such a moment, where they could share something more than that of master and servant, would be short lived.

"Who shall be Emperor when you don't return?" she mumbled, as her Prince released his grasp of her hand. "You've tried… so hard."

Ling shrugged, with attempted aloofness on his part as he sauntered up to the dirty window of their room, basking in the caressing glow of afternoon sunshine. With his hands firmly delved into his pockets, he chose not to turn his gaze back on his trusted aid, in fear that his own expression would mimic hers. If he spared one look in her direction, he knew little would stop the fury welling inside him.

"I don't know… there are eleven others in line for the throne before me, so I'm sure they'll find someone else for the job. It's not a big deal, really."

His face was serious, his mouth a hard line as he stared intently out onto the taupe-grey city of Central. It quickly became apparent to Lan Fan how great a sacrifice he was intending to make for her disability.

"Thank you, Young Master," she whispered, unable, now, to hold back the threatening tears that wanted to fall. For her, and for him, and for the loss of the dream that they had both strived so hard to achieve.


End file.
